


The Persistence of Memory

by snafurougarou



Series: Gods and Monsters [1]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Animal Death, Blood and Injury, Bullying, Character Study, Child Abuse, Dark, Domestic Violence, Family, Gen, Grief, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Mother-Son Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Snippets, Trauma, Violence, like whatever sad shit you can think of, little snaf has a rough time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 23:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snafurougarou/pseuds/snafurougarou
Summary: A series of memory snippets about Merriell as a child from his mother's POV





	The Persistence of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a light or fluffy fic. It deals with domestic abuse at points and contains the death of a pet. I belong to a particular species of angst demon, so gentle hearts, turn back while you still can.
> 
> Bold, written numbers above each snippet indicate Snafu's age.
> 
> Seven and Fifteen are the harshest snippets. Proceed with caution.
> 
> [Here](https://78.media.tumblr.com/90209d5925a6abdb76e42613ac7dba83/tumblr_oyqbrspOE61warznto1_1280.png) is the moodboard for this fic.

 

**Three.**

Agnes whined and coughed in her sleep. The wheeze in her breath had gone from small rasp to a rattling whistle over night, and Claudia had stopped sleeping altogether. The hours of her nights were spent tracking the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest. Nothing to do now but wait. Like each of them before.

She rubbed her temples and looked to the open door. Two big, round eyes flashed in candlelight as they peered around the doorframe, fixed on the girl struggling to to breathe. Merriell flicked his gaze from Agnes to her, a silent request to go to his sister, but Claudia shook her head and watched those bright eyes storm over.

He lurked there, fidgeting and shifting his weight from foot to foot. He should have been asleep, but it was impossible to keep him down when she was afraid to leave Agnes for more than a few minutes at a time. As soon as she tucked him in and returned to her daughter’s side, little feet would shuffle back to her.

He had been asking after her since she’d fallen ill. Could Agnes tell him a story? When would she be able to play again? The glow of hope in his eyes dimmed each day the answer was unsatisfactory. He wasn't old enough to remember his siblings before her, but a grim understanding had settled over him, and when it was clear there would be no more playing, he waited for the thing no one would say in his presence.

It tore at her heart to keep Merriell away, but she had to protect him from the malady. The Lord had already taken two infants and her eldest boy from her, and now she feared the same for her oldest daughter. Merriell would be all she had left.

Prayer seemed useless, but Claudia didn’t go a day without trying to appeal to God’s mercy. It was almost cruel that she should love them so much when they were certain to be gone before they were grown.

When Claudia finally stepped out of the room, she felt small hands in her apron, tugging her attention downward.

“Mama?” Merriell looked at her expectantly, but she shook her head again and he dropped his eyes.

 

**Four.**

Claudia paid the bills and counted the rest of their money. Her hands shook and tangled in her hair as she ran calculations over and over, as if the repetition would resolve an error in the math.  

It wasn’t that she was unfamiliar the constant struggle - rather, the opposite. Survival was a weekly concern. Exhaustion was woven into her bones. Still, another week without enough to feed all of them worked her frustration to the surface, made her jaw tighten and eyes prickle. She kept her face as straight as possible to hide her distress from Merriell’s compulsive observation.

She bought what they could afford; rice and beans would stretch, onions, celery, and some flour and yeast. But after Bernard ate and she’d settled a bowl of soup and some bread in front Merriell, she still didn't dare take any for herself.

Merriell sat at the table alone, spooning a single bite into his mouth before looking at Claudia. He wiggled around, dangling his legs off the side of his chair, and ignored his supper to stare at her. She leaned against the counter and rubbed at the ache in her temples while keeping an eye on him.

“Mama?”

“Eat, cher.” He sat still, watched her with an expectation. She approached him and tapped her finger on the table, looking into those unwavering eyes. “Merri, eat.”

“You too?”

She huffed as she smiled at him and brushed her fingers through his hair. He filled his spoon and blew on the steaming broth, lifting it for her. Something shattered in her chest, but she smiled again and took the offering, watching his eyes light up.

They shared the bowl for a few bites before she told him she was too stuffed, and he would need to finish it.

 

**Five.**

She kept him close with a firm palm on his shoulder to stop him springing toward the fox kits tumbling and pouncing on one another up ahead on their walking trail. Momentarily, at the sound of Merriell’s gasp and scuffing feet, they paused and hunkered down, heads cocked and eyes wandering over them before they resumed their play.

“You gotta be calm, p’tit. They get scared when ya get so excited,” She whispered as she crouched behind him. Her hands on his shoulders guided him to do the same. His eyes were large and eager and his breath stuttered like he was fighting to keep it from bursting out of him.

“Ain't gonna hurt 'em…”

“I know, baby. But they little and wild.” She smiled and scratched his hair. “Like you.” He shot her a mischievous little grin. “Don’t like people surprising them.”

He went quiet. A bounce in his eyes followed their jumping and rolling in the dirt. If she weren’t here, he’d be trying to join them, crawling on hands and knees and imitating their playful yaps.

He spun around and put his hands on her cheeks, buttering her up with a little kiss. His smile turned gears behind impish eyes as he asked, “Can we bring them home?” She let a quiet laugh slip and shook her head against his shoulder.

“No, cher. They gotta stay here. Their mama’s gonna be lookin’ for them.” He sighed. One of the kits yelped and growled at another and drew Merriell’s attention back to them. Claudia tapped his side. “Come. We can watch them for a bit.”

He followed her over beneath a tree just off the path. With a gentle tug, he collapsed onto her lap, giggling until she shushed him and he pressed his fingers over his mouth.

They watched until dusk fell and the kits finally bounded off into the swamp, following the call of their mother.

The evening stretched on with a gentle breeze blowing cool and pushing the humid air around. Merriell was drowsy in her lap, head lolling on her shoulder as she combed her fingers through his unruly curls, idly noting how long they were getting.

Time escaped her awareness until a pit began to form in her stomach. She should hurry and get Merriell to bed. Bernard would be upset by how late she was, and the longer she waited to get back, the worse his mood would be.

Merriell was wrapped against her and had drifted to sleep by the time she decided to get up. She held him tight and coaxed him calm again when he whined at the way she jostled him around. Standing, she supported him in her arms and on her hip.

He mumbled and nuzzled into her neck, tiny fingers scratching at the collar of her dress.

“Shhh, Merri. We’re goin’ home. Back to sleep now.” She held him tight, grateful for how easily he nodded off again, and walked the path back to their house.

 

**Six.**

He came home with swollen and split lips, scrapes up and down his arms, and his pants torn at the knee. Dirt covered his face, parted by clean streaks of skin down his cheeks. His eyes burned pink from bloodshot whites and red-rimmed lids. He wouldn't look at her, just made his way through the front door, head hung and waiting for admonishment.

Claudia rushed and kneeled in front of him, wiping the dirt from his cheeks with anxious swipes of her fingers. He sniffled and stared at the floor. Rage whipped through her like billowing flames. It had been every day since the beginning of the school year. He’d come home upset, frustration and loneliness evident in his words when recounting how the other boys treated him, but this was the first time he was hurt. She prepared herself to hunt down the monsters she suspected were responsible.

Bernard stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching his son with stony eyes.

Merriell brought his gaze up, caught his father staring at him, and looked away again as he stepped closer to her. Claudia took the shaky hand he reached out to her, and she pulled him to her chest, wrapping him up in her arms. His skinny shoulders trembled and he sniffled in her ear.

“Shh, Merri. Be still now, p'tit.”

“It's good for him, Claudia. Make the boy a man.” Boots beat the floorboards, and shadow fell over them as a large hand pulled Merriell away from her. Claudia got to her feet slowly, not taking her eyes off Bernard and their boy.

“Straighten ya shoulders.” Merriell did, watching his father with a nervous intensity that spun knots in Claudia's stomach. Bernard looked him over, pushed against Merriell’s shoulder with his fingertips, and Merriell swayed slightly but kept his eyes locked on him.

“Let ya mère get you cleaned up, yeah? Then come outside. You’re gonna learn to fight, boy.”

 

**Seven.**

He asked about a dog frequently and beneath his breath so it wouldn’t carry to his father. Stories flowed, while Claudia cooked supper, about a family down the road with a new puppy. About how Madame Beaudreau let Merriell give the little hound treats on his way home from school.

His eyes were bright as summer suns and swirled around in fantasy as he imagined adventures with his own pup. He tugged at her arm and smiled and talked a little faster, tripping over his words in his effort to whisper his wishes to her. Even being only his dream, his happiness infected her, and she didn’t correct him when the words _think about it_ fell on his ears with the same weight as _promise_.

Her conversation with Bernard centered on it being good for the boy to have a dog, that it would teach Merriell responsibility, that it could be a ratter if nothing else. Within a month of their discussion, he brought home a puppy, a beagle, from another neighbor's house where a litter had just been weaned.

Merriell, helplessly excited and ready to burst, dropped to his hands and knees to pet it and let it slobber puppy kisses on his face. He thanked them repeatedly, going so far as to hug his father, an act reserved for only the most special of occasions. Even Bernard was touched by Merriell’s elation, allowing a faint smile to soften his face as he ruffled his son’s hair.

Milou was the name Merriell bestowed on him, after a dog in a funny book he’d been given ages ago. Milou had Merriell’s undivided attention. Any and all moments free from chores or school were devoted to him, including bedtime. Even after Bernard made it clear the dog was to sleep outside, Merriell snuck Milou into his room with him at night. Claudia helped keep it secret by taking him back outside in the morning before Bernard or Merriell woke up.

It was a kind of peace to watch him from a distance, fawning over Milou like he was both his child and best friend. Maybe he was. No creature had ever found so much love under that roof as that little pup. Merriell took extra time to feed and bathe him and bring him on long adventures. When Merriell asked Claudia if she thought Milou was happy there, all she could do was chuckle.

Milou’s responsibility was singular and unspoken: keep Merriell from his loneliness.  

It was almost a year before real trouble struck.

Glass shattered. Then the roar of Bernard shouting Merriell’s name and a succession of curses echoed through the house. Claudia's hands froze and dropped the shirt she was folding on her bed.

There had been no dearth of warnings to Merriell about running around in the house with Milou. Each item their roughhousing had destroyed led Merriell to take a walloping that set him straight for a few weeks. Without fail, though, he was back at it as soon as he’d forgotten the bruising on his behind.

Merriell always took his discipline with a quiet acceptance when he upset his father, so his desperate screams of “Papa” over Milou’s yelping as the screen door screeched and slammed turned her blood cold. She ran to get to them, toppling a chair and basket of apples in her frenzy. The shotgun blast stopped her heart but propelled her faster out the front door and around the side of the house.

She stopped short, taking in the scene before her, where Merriell stood tearing at his own hair with tight, shaking fists, unable to gasp in enough air, choking on his breath. She followed his watery stare to the familiar lump of fur collapsed only a few feet away. Time stopped.

Bernard shoved past her with his shotgun in hand. She grabbed at his shirt and screamed something her own mind couldn’t register. Bernard’s hand striking her face was only a bruise on her hazy awareness. She might not have known he’d hit her at all were it not for her shoulder slamming into the wall of the house. She stumbled to the ground.

Bernard looked back at Merriell, that slight form staggering toward Claudia. “Bury the fucking thing!” The thunder in his voice startled Merriell off his already shaky balance. He dropped to his knees and gasped, fighting through his own despair to crawl to her as his father stormed off.

Claudia’s chest split as an agonized sob ruptured in Merriell’s throat. She scrambled for him before he could get any closer, clutching him to her, but unable to soothe the chaos unfolding inside of him. She held him tight when he tried to go back to Milou, refusing to let him look at that horror another moment.

Claudia buried Milou by a tree next to the house. She dug the grave in the early morning the next day after Merriell finally exhausted himself in the flood of his grief and fell asleep.

She showed him when he woke up, standing over the burial spot, running her knuckles over his puffy cheeks. He settled hollow eyes on her for only a moment before walking back inside.

 

**Ten.**

Lazy afternoons of summer were meant for stealing. Claudia had no love for the demand of tireless work, and at the first chance of escape, she was as eager as Merriell to disappear from the company of anyone who might ask anything of her.

She lay on a blanket in the meadow, sprawled under the sun while Merriell climbed the trees along the edge of the open field. She kept watch of him launching himself up the branches, reaching the highest he could go, and then carefully creeping out along the limb until it started to bow under his weight and jumping to the next tree. It still sent her heart into her throat to see him do it, but he’d been at it since he was big enough to climb their trunks. Her warnings and discipline were useless to stop him.

The boy would climb no matter what.

She stayed close by. He was always out there alone, without the safety of companions, and though his feet were sure, she wanted to be able to find him in the event he did fall and break his neck.

It had never been her intent to raise a boy so nervous around other people. Claudia hadn’t been popular or overly social herself growing up, but she always had a couple of friends to play with. Merriell didn’t. He avoided other children, spent his time with her or solitary, and when he was off on his own he was nowhere to be found.

He never revealed if the other boys still teased him, but he’d long since stopped coming home with anything more than bruises on his knuckles. If they were bothering him, he was handling it, perhaps at the loss of friendships.

When he settled on a branch and sat back against the tree trunk, she closed her eyes for a moment.

She hadn’t meant to drift off, but when a shriek of “Mama” tore into the depths of her dreams and pulled her from sleep, she started into a sprint in Merriell’s direction. He was lying on the ground when she found him, holding his fractured and twisted arm, crying and writhing like a baby bird fallen from its nest.

She lived in her guilt for the rest of the summer. Watched him spend those sweltering months with his arm trapped in a sling and cast. Eyes always somewhere far away. A miserable little thing.

 

**Thirteen.**

He was watching her through ribbons of steam when she opened her eyes. The tilt of his head seemed to assess if she was awake enough to take the soup he’d gone to make for her earlier. She didn’t know how long ago that was.

For the first time in years, she was sick, and though she hadn't wanted to spend the day in bed, Merriell had insisted with troubled eyes and desperate words. Her relenting had been to appease him, but now she felt the weight of sickness in her bones. Fatigue cradled her consciousness.

He waited for her to sit up before handing her the bowl and settling himself on the edge of the mattress.

“Not lookin' so good, Mama.” He set his wrist against her forehead, eyebrows knitting together as he chewed his lip for a moment. “Feel warm.”

“I'm fine, Merri. No need for you fussin' over me.” She smiled at him, and he mimicked the expression, but lines of concern still carved through his forehead. Whenever she did get sick, he was the one drained pallid.

She might have told him it was no good to dwell on it. When the Lord said your time was up, that was it. But those words would only agitate and leave him helpless against his fears. Better to let him look after her and feel as though it made a difference.

He was still a child, thirteen and just starting to feel the changes of life, and yet death was a specter hanging over him. Sometimes he’d say things that set her on edge, as though he suspected there were something waiting to cut him down at any moment. She remembered that feeling, the gradual realization that all would come to an end, and that youth gave no guarantees.

Merriell shouldn't have had to learn about the fragility of life at such a young age, but there was no taking back the things he'd seen. All she could do was try to preserve the light left in him and keep his father from snuffing it out.

Her marriage with Bernard had soured years ago, but she could tolerate how he was to her so long as Merriell was safe from any further abuse. He wasn't the same soft little boy she'd had years ago, but he still recoiled in the presence of his father, tense with the anticipation of his hand. The thought of leaving him alone in the care of that man might have been the only thing that allowed her to go on in tough times, to hold onto the beat of her heart as if it were also his.

Bernard had forced Merriell drop out of school, get a job. The boy worked himself gaunt, smoked even though she'd asked him not to, drank despite seeing what it did to his father. His mouth was foul when he thought she wasn't listening.

That was the heartbreak of motherhood, holding a human being in their pure form and watching the world steal them, poison them, cut and reshape them into something that only occasionally resembled the original whole.

He gave her glimpses of it while he waited on her. There was no roughness, just the worry that had always seemed too big draped over his scrawny shoulders.

When she'd finished what she could, he pecked her on the cheek, whispered, “love you, Mama,” and took her bowl. As he readied himself to leave, she held the hand he’d settled closest to her and ran her thumb back and forth over the soft skin.

“You're a good boy, Merri.”

His shoulders stiffened before he returned a short, forced smile and left the room.

 

**Fifteen.**

First, the screen door slammed and broke her from her dreams, and then the rage in her brother’s voice pulled Claudia from bed.

“Ya lucky I'm the one ta find him.” She and Bernard scrambled from their bedroom, half-asleep, eyes widening at the sight of Merriell being shoved through the front door by his uncle. The boy stumbled and caught himself on the kitchen counter. Booze wafted off him to Claudia's nose, and she started shaking her head. It was just a question of what he'd gotten himself into this time.

“What happened?”

“Don' even wanna tell ya.” His glare bore a hole through Merriell. The boy looked at him with desperation and then turned his eyes to the floor, wobbling where he stood.

“Jaques.”

“Found him with a man.”

“I don't...”

“Kissin' a God damn man!” He rubbed his brow and shook his head. “Dunno if you're condonin' this sick behavior, but he's gonna get himself shot or hanged. Best be watchin’ him, ‘cause it ain’t gonna be me who gets ‘im next time.” Jacques gave Merriell a final scowl before he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

Both Claudia and Bernard's attention turned to their drunk son leaning on the counter. His eyes met hers first, blood shot and wide and jumping from her to his father and back.

“Mama...” His voice cracked and caught on his breath. Hers vanished, wouldn't respond to his plea in time.

“No. Ain't no fuckin' way.” Bernard stalked toward him and Merriell's arms went up defensively. Claudia followed after him, mind still working to gather up Jaques' words and make sense of them. Her understanding was limited to the fear in her son's eyes and the rigid posture of her husband approaching him.

“Papa-” The word made it out of his mouth just as Bernard grabbed him by the throat and slammed his back against the edge of the countertop, forcing his spine to bend until his head hit the wall. He clawed at his father's hand, but the other came up in a fist and struck him in the face. Claudia grabbed at Bernard. He wouldn't release him, just knocked her across the face hard enough to throw her down and continued swinging, ripping cries from him with each blow.

When he finally dropped him, Merriell crumpled to the floor, sputtering and whimpering, delirious enough to reach for his father. Bernard backed away and headed for the front door. He turned to look down at Claudia.

“'S'your fault. I been tellin' you forever, ya mother him too fuckin’ much.” He came back and kneeled down in front of Merriell, who curled into himself a little more. “I want ya outta here. Won' have nothin’ like you under my roof.”

“I’ll leave too if ya think that is happening.” Almost a scream. Just short of panic. Bernard’s face twisted in something near disgust. “He's our boy.” _The only one we still have -_ the words lay dormant on her tongue.

“Ain't mine.” He kept harsh eyes on her for a moment longer before stomping away. Claudia jumped at the slam of the door.

She crawled to Merriell and gathered him from the floor. The sting of alcohol in her nostrils carried with it the tang of iron. He shook and moaned as she rested his head on her lap. Caught in a state of nervous absent-mindedness, she brushed his curls with a trembling hand and startled when his fingers found her arm.

She brought her hands down and cradled his in hers. When she looked down, his blood had spread through the cotton of her night gown. She found the memory of his birth, the blood from his entrance into this world reflected in that spilled fluid, an omen of his early departure from it.

“Merri,” She whispered. His fingers curled around hers. “Merri, tell me what happened, huh?” He opened his mouth, coughed, and blood dribbled down his chin. Her heart jumped, and it took everything to keep her voice gentle above the panic. “Let's get you washed up, okay?” He tried to nod, head moving just slightly.

She got him to his bed and wiped at his face with a damp cloth.

“I'm sorry...”

“Be still.”

And after a while, when his breathing had steadied and the muscles of his face relaxed as his eyes flitted over her, she asked again, “What happened?” But he couldn't answer. His breath hitched, chin and cheeks quivering as he started to cry - an anguished sound, deeper than the cuts and bruises marring his skin. His entire body shook. Her heart fell. “Is it true?”

His hand searched for hers again. She took it.

“I'm sorry.” His voice was small and pleading.

She’d never struggled with how to respond to him before this, and her silence must have fueled his fear, because he kept repeating himself. _I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

It felt like her own curse. She would lose all but one child, but inside him evil would fester; he would lose his salvation. She couldn’t feel angry with him. Even if Bernard thought it was her protectiveness of him, she knew this was meant as her punishment. Taking all of the others away, giving her a drunk and angry man for a husband, endangering her son with this persuasion. She didn’t know what she had done to wrong her Lord and earn his wrath, but for the first time in her life, she felt the burn of hatred move through her and toward the heavens.

“Mama, sitoplé-” Her fingers hovered over his broken lips to stop the river of apologies flowing from them. She leaned over him and kissed his forehead. As if grasping for forgiveness, he pulled at her and she wrapped him up in her arms, rocking him gently as his body tremored and more sobs broke against her shoulder.

“I love you, Merri. Gonna be alright.” It only made him cry harder. She managed to hold him steady as her fingers found their natural resting place in his hair and rubbed circles against the curve of his skull until he fell quiet and loose in her arms.

Happiness wanted no part in her family’s lives. She'd seen the things people did to boys like him. They'd hurt Merriell too if they ever found out. They wouldn't see anything in him other than what they despised. Wouldn't know he was her sweet, sensitive boy who made her soup when she was sick and helped her take care of the house, who worked long hours at his job and didn't eat half the time so that what they had would last.

God did that to her, gave her this child with the devil running through him to test her one more time. But she couldn’t resent Merriell. He was hers and she loved him regardless.

 

**Sixteen.**

For the first time in almost a year, Merriell seemed content to spend the day with her - no worried glances or quick evasions of her attention. He helped her carry water from the pump, fingers skirting along the surface of a collection pale, flicking some at her and grinning that wide, sly smile that had been spreading over his face since he learned the importance of having a mask to show the world. This time, however, it felt sincere.

She splashed water back at him and got something close to a giggle in response, a crinkled nose, a chewed lip. Those stormy sea eyes were big and bright, bold beneath the waves his brow. All of the energy coming off him buzzed between chaos and joy.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” She laughed as the question left her mouth, but speaking it cracked the smile on his face and his entire demeanor faltered as he forced his gaze to the ground. A flush burned up through his tan, and he guarded his neck with his shoulder as he shook his head. And then she knew.

That raw, youthful impression of love. She could anticipate the hummingbird caged in his chest, the sweet, anxious flutter unnerving his stomach, his mind cycling around the object of his affection, captivated by delight and madness. Even though she wished it were a young lady in his thoughts, a girl she might eventually meet, Claudia knew he would never bring his sweetheart home. He'd keep his smiles secretive. Give only hazy details to keep himself safe. She might hear about a close friend of his someday, but that would be the end of the discussion.

It didn’t matter. As long as he was happy.

He kept quiet for the remainder of the afternoon, eyes often drifting somewhere far away. His fingers occasionally ghosted over a bruise on his throat and tugged at a smile that brightened his entire face.  

When he noticed her looking, he dropped his hand and straightened out his expression.

 


End file.
